Death, Love, and Transcendence
by Mr. Wednesday
Summary: A Wraith: The Oblvion story. Rated R for language. A wraith seeks to discover who he was and how he died, and overcome the land of shadows. Though the spectere of Oblivion awaits him around every turn...
1. Introduction: The End Is The Beginning

(Introductory Note: I've included some basics to the Wraith mythology in the story. They are based on the perspective of the character and may not be what is 'true' according to White Wolf's Game line.)  
  
The morning routine was always the same. Take the kids to school, and then get to work as fast as possible. That is the way it was in the Jergan household. Ms. Jergan cleaned up the half full bowls of cereal that the kids had left when they rushed out for school. The bus had come to pick the kids up a little late this particular morning, so the time slot to get to work was pushed tighter than usual. Frank Jergan fixed his tie as he readied himself to go out the door.  
  
"How do I look?" He raised his neck and stood up straight. He was clean- shaven with thinning brown hair, though he still carried an air of pride about him as he pushed into the grounds of middle age.  
  
Anne Jergan smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, fixing his tie. "You look great. I know you'll give them hell in the meeting today."  
  
Frank nodded, "I spent a lot of time with this presentation for today. It should give them hell." He smiled to her.  
  
Anne looked at her watch. The hands clicked. "Well, you had better get out of here now or else you won't have any time to show them."  
  
Frank chuckled. "Alright, Alright." He gave her one last kiss on the cheek and picked up his briefcase and walked out of the door, his wife locking it behind him.  
  
Frank walked hastily to his car, disengaging the alarm system with two soft beeps. He sighed a bit and checked to see if his cell was in his pocket. This time it was. He almost always forgot it, but not this morning luckily. He placed his briefcase onto the passenger seat and backed out of his driveway, onto the relatively quiet side street. As soon as he turned onto the main road, it was extremely busy. He had missed his opportunity to attempt to get ahead the morning rush.  
  
He bit his lower lip and turned on the radio. Traffic was not moving swiftly, and there were accidents on two of the roads that Frank needed to take. He would miss the meeting. Maybe. He needed to punch it. That was the only way he would be able to make it. As soon as the light changed, he pressed his foot on the accelerator and switched lanes quickly, cutting a car off. He didn't bother to wave an apology, he had to concentrate. He continued to dart in and out of traffic wantonly.  
  
He risked taking a glance at the clock. The soft green digital glow changed lines. He wouldn't make it. His cell phone rang. He cursed idly and looked down to fumble in his pocket for it. By the time he looked up, the car in front of him was approaching far too fast for him to slam on the breaks.  
  
***  
  
We all die. You are not born into this life to be immortal. When death comes, some get deposited in the land of shadows. It is a pale reflection of the living world. Everything is dimmer, everything duller. No joy. Little hope. There is no hell here, no heaven. Just shadows of people and things that once were. Is there something beyond this? Most say no. A few say yes. I am one of those few.  
  
The souls here held strong emotional attachments in life. Which is why they did not pass on to what lies beyond, which is anyone's guess as to what it is. Beyond shadow, and beyond oblivion. Two more important aspects of this world are shadow and oblivion. The shadow is the darkest part of every human being birthed to life upon death, and given malicious intellect. The shadow seeks control over the dominant personality of the soul. If it achieves this, Souls become Specters. Dark beings, which are part of the unstoppable force called oblivion. Oblivion is the force that was opposite creation. Opposite life, opposite of love. It seeks to destroy everything. The more malice the world harbors, the stronger it grows.  
  
The heart of oblivion lies beyond a raging sea of lost dreams. The tempest. It is always stormy, and rocks with pain. Beyond this is the heart of Oblivion. The Labyrinth. A dark maze that leads down to God knows what. Perhaps the force that spawned oblivion itself.  
  
In a pocket of calm space in the tempest, there is a great city of the dead, Stygia. It is ruled by the heads of the legions. These legions are warriors against oblivion, to fight the specters and hold the destruction of souls back. Of course, politics always comes first, even though their rhetoric says otherwise. Little changes in the transition from life to death. Not surprising. One is assigned to these Legions in fashion of death. A neat little way of packaging us. And materials from the land of the dead, come from souls. The metaphysical substance of what one is can become material for a sword, a chair, a pen, anything. Most of the time it is usually specters and traitors that go to the forge, though this is most of the time.  
  
These are the basics to my existence. My name is Adrian. I am part of the Grim Legion. They say that I died by violence. I don't remember much about my death. My last days are shrouded in mystery. Some of my life is even foreign to me. I think I was a police officer. I had a wife. She was pregnant in my last memory. I try not to think about it, it only hurts to think.  
  
"You writing in that thing again, Adrian?" Keith looked over my shoulder. He was dressed in the clothes he died in, camouflage fatigues with military boots. The first thing I turned to look at were the multiple gunshot wounds in his chest. The cause of his death right in my face. I almost cringed.  
  
"Yeah, helps ease off the shadow. Shuts the bastard up." I smile, like I always do. They can understand that answer.  
  
"You can never shut me up. Never ever, ever, ever." It whispers in my ear. I ignore it.  
  
He nods, looking me over. I don't bear the mark of my death. In fact, I look much like I did in life. Six foot three, long black hair. Neatly trimmed goatee. Lean frame. The only difference was glowing green eyes. The fires of emeralds borne into my head.  
  
Keith shakes his head, a cocky smirk on his face. His dog tags move back and forth as he shakes his head. "Jeez, Adrian. Well, anyway." He looks towards the book as he says this. I wonder if his cockiness got him killed. "We have to go for maneuvers, You coming?"  
  
I nodded. Wouldn't do much good thinking more and arouse my better half. I pick up my sword, armor is already strapped on. There aren't many guns here. Only ones that are have some have had strong attachments to cross over. Bullets are as scarce as guns. Most combat is medieval style, with soul forged blades. 'Yeah, I need to practice. I'm not getting lost to the Specters for being out of practice."  
  
Keith cocked his head towards the door. "Lets go soldier boy! Time to prove your worth!"  
  
I exit my room. This is my death, or my second chance. It is all I've got, and all I want to keep. 


	2. Detective of Memory

The clang of the swords still rang in my ears after practice. It was always like that. Constant sparring, constant readiness for the last push of Oblivion. We were the victims of violence, and the preservers of the sanity in the land of the dead. I turned to Keith, who was still beside me. I did not want to think now. He smirked to me, cocky as ever. "You still give me a work out. Boy, whoever trained you, trained you good."  
  
I smirked, "Must have been the best. You can work with it when you have a lot of anger in you."   
  
"So much anger. So much I could put to use. Why don't you give in and take out your boss? He doesn't appreciate you, you know…" I shut my ears to the voice, the constant voice of me.  
  
"Uh huh, just don't go too nuts up there with the anger." He rapped a fist on my head, smirking in good humor. "Old boy always has some tricks up his sleeve. Try to be Zen."  
  
"Yeah, be Zen. You be…" My conversation was interrupted by a figure standing before me. She stood at attention. Long braided black hair and armor that fitted to frame. She was lean and lithe. She had poignant blue eyes that burned with fiery emotion. All her color was in her wrists; however, it was a stark contrast to her eyes. Jagged lines ripped across both of them, and I could she a bright crimson red still seeping out of them. She was not of my Legion. She was of the Silent Legion. The Legion of Despair. Death by one's own hand do not end up in hell, but they end up here. Which is hell enough, I suppose.   
  
She regarded me rather coldly, and it was to be expected. Our Legion did not have the best of relations with them. Our lives cut short we cannot have much respect for those who chose to waste theirs by their own hand. "Adrian, is it?"   
  
I turned to her as my name was mentioned. "Yes?"  
  
"You have orders to report to your commander as soon as possible." She flexed her hands, cracking imaginary knuckles, causing the crimson to flow a little more. She also had a mark on her left hand which I did not readily recognize. I averted my eyes to hers.  
  
"And may I ask why is a member of a Silent Legion giving me orders?" I questioned. Inter Legion politics were all too familiar for me to be suspicious.  
  
"I had a personal meeting with your commander. He requested that I find you and give the order." The crimson glowed a little in her wrists. My eyes could not help but be attracted to it. I again tried to focus my eyes on hers.  
  
"Right. Well then, carry on." It was silent before I offered her a salute and looked to Keith.  
  
He humped. "That was odd."  
  
"Yeah, it was. I didn't think they associated with us that much."  
  
Keith nodded in agreement. "They don't. Especially of their unit."  
  
I quirked an eyebrow towards Keith and turned in his direction. "You mean the Silent Legion?"  
  
Keith shook his head. "No, the Warriors of Lethe. They are a unit within the Silent Legion. They join it to die a second time in the glory of battle. To forget the pain of their lives and be destroyed in honorable combat against Oblivion."  
  
I shook my head in disbelief. "How do you know that?"  
  
"The mark on her hand shows her membership. I know because I worked with some of 'em. Don't talk about much more than battle plans and effects of maximum damage." He shook his head. "Some of the best soldiers I knew."  
I nodded. "So, someone who isn't going to spend much time here is consorting to make alliances and deals with our legion? You're right. That is odd."  
  
Keith offered a knowing smile. "Yup, it is. Anyway, you're up slugger. Meeting with the Mortar. Knock 'em dead." He smirked and offered a wave as he walked off.  
  
I waved back and looked on ahead to make my way to Stygia's main road. It was suspicious that a member of a suicide squad had a talk with a commander of the Legion. It could be the business of the Silent Legion, but I couldn't picture a member of an elite combat squad entrusted with efforts of diplomacy. I'd have to ask Keith about it later. Lost in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed that I passed my building. Even if I wasn't lost in thought, I could still get lost. The city of the dead was a sky rise of twisted steel and winding roads, a virtual maze. It was unlike anything in the world of the living, and rightly so. I stepped backward and opened the doors made by the souls of the damned. It groaned. I ignored it.  
  
"They were still alive when they went to the forge! They screamed and bled to be twisted into a chair! How does that armor feel on you? Maybe it was your great-grandfather!" The shadow spoke again. I dared not agree with it, no matter how right it seemed. To agree was to make it right, and to make it seem right was the path to Oblivion.  
  
The lobby was empty except for a single clerk sitting at a desk next to tow large stair cases leading up. The walls were made of steel, as was the floor. The place was utterly empty except for one wraith. I felt eyes all around me. I approached the gaunt figure looking bored as he sat on the desk. The slash wound across his neck was visible from a distance. Long and ragged. I kept eye contact with him. "Good afternoon. I have an appointment with Commander Skeffington. My name is Adrian."  
  
He looked up with hollow grey eyes. Everything about him was unnerving. "Yeah, I know. You're late."   
  
"Well, I just go…"  
  
"Head up the left staircase. Fifth floor, last room, end of the hall. Only time I'm telling you." He went back to staring into nothing in the lobby. I got one last look at him and was given a cold stare.  
  
I blinked and went up the stairs, hustling past him. I could feel the anger, the undirected pain. He was young and his detest for this existence had caused the shadow to eat at him. It could happen surprisingly quick for souls to listen to the voice in their head and turn down a path of pain and hatred. The shadow for people like him relied on quick-gratification. If I had been a little more stubborn, a little more demanding, he could have went off. The kid was a ticking time bomb. I would have to mention it to the Commander, he would need help.   
  
I climbed the winding, grey staircase. I had to count floors. There were no markers, just steel doors without any specifications to which floor was which. Eventually reaching the fifth floor I opened the door.   
  
The hallway was narrow, lit only by single light bulbs. The doors were spaced in accordance with the lights so they could be easily seen. The doors were shaped in the same metal that the hallway doors were. The walls were strong cinderblocks, grey, one on another. In my mortal life, I was claustrophobic. I could handle this, it was only a hallway. Each step I took in the long hallway resonated. Click, click, click.   
  
Half-way down the hall and I've felt more claustrophobic then I have ever felt in my entire life. If I were mortal, I wouldn't have been able to breathe. The dim light made the shadows play on the walls. I shut my eyes and the shadows played in my head. I was too nervous. It was irrational to be nervous now. This couldn't be so bad. I knew I was alone when I heard my own steps. Click, click, click.  
  
I noticed something on the corner of the door. Did it move? I wasn't alone here. I shut my eyes and continued. I balled my fists and opened my eyes resolutely. The walls were covered in souls. The souls that this place was made out of them. They screamed their agony to me, wanting my blood. I couldn't take any more. I burst out running across the remainder of the hallway, my own steps following me. Click, click, click.  
  
I reached out and touched the door knob. I almost forgot to knock first, but before I could, a voice spoke, calling out over the door. "Come in, come in." And I opened the door and stepped into his office.  
  
***  
  
Nazis aren't generally liked in the Shadowlands. The slaughter of millions of people and soldiers saw to it that almost all were met by their victims when they crossed over. Needless to say, not many Nazis survived. Obergefreiter Skeffington, equivalent to Colonel Skeffington, is one of the few exceptions. He worked his way up the ranks through favors and the usual backstabbing to his officer position before the Second World War. When the conflict was started, he was sent out to the front lines and killed in the first battle in which his was Colonel. He was an amazing strategist and could have been proved a pain in the ass for the allies if he had lived. This is one of the reasons he wasn't immediately killed in the Shadowlands. He died before the major deaths of the war were inflicted. The other was that he was far too valuable a strategist to be killed, even though no one admitted it. It was seen as a necessary evil against Oblivion and he was quietly spared, though he likes to think he survived.  
  
"So, how have you been lately? Comfortable with your position?" He pressed a skeletal arm to the desk. He had no accent. The only language in the Shadowlands was the universal tongue of the dead. Language is only a tool for the living.  
  
I forced myself not to cringe at him. The Colonel was killed by mortar fire, a blast that tore him to pieces. Every place that was lost was replaced here with skeleton. His left side was more or less untouched, but his right side was scarred permanently. His right arm was permanently skeletal, and part of his right torso melded with the…the meat of his left side. He purposely kept this exposed, though he did wear pants and military boots. His face was burned black with skin stretched over bone to reveal a skeletal grin with sharp jagged teeth that locked together. He still wore his officer's hat. His eyes were dead flesh, unnerving even more than red pinpoints. They looked nowhere and everywhere at once. "Uhm…Yes sir."  
  
He bit down. "Well, I think things are a bit too easy for you. We think we need you as an infiltrator."  
  
I blinked. Infiltrators were the judge, jury and executioner of the Grim Legion. They found and hunted the murderers of the victims of the Grim Legion. Took them in and let justice take its course as it was not able to do in life. Infiltrators would even take in other souls that had killed wantonly for punishment. Our forges were never short of material. "I don't know what to say."  
  
The commander nodded to me. "All you have to do is say yes. If you accept…" I could feel that he smirked at me, he knew I would accept. No one ever says no. He paced the office in an at ease position. "Your first assignment is you."  
  
I blinked. "Me?"  
  
"Yes, you." The commander traced his skeletal hand around his desk that was molded to look like wood. "Our Death Lord has decided that this is your one chance for vengeance. Once you find the man, the woman that did this to you, you have one chance at justice."  
  
I nodded to him. I had not thought about this. My goal was to forge ahead in this new life, and to forget the past. It was the chance to see what I had to lost. I did not want to revisit pain, I wanted to feel nothing. I didn't want to think. But refusal was to admit that murder was casual and alright. I couldn't go that route. Nor would I. "I'd be honored, sir." I stood at attention and resisted the urge to ball my hands into fists.  
  
"Good then. You start immediately." He looked at me with his hollow dead eyes, my cue to leave. Slowly bowing my head to him, I began to turn but my memory caught something.  
  
"Sir? A question if I may." I did not let my nerves overtake my voice, especially when the hollow eyes of his turned onto me.  
  
"Speak."  
  
"Your receptionist in the lobby seems far gone by his other half…I feel it would be beneficial for him to be treated."   
  
No expression was visible except the taut skeletal grin marring his face. "Don't worry. We're going to provoke him soon enough into a frenzy. Just reason to send him to the forges. We're getting short on equipment."  
  
I nearly choked. I never showed weakness. Not to him. I nodded my head, "I see Commander. Good thinking." I offered a salute and turned out of his office and into the claustrophobic hallway.  
  
The steel was silent now, but I could hear the pain from the lobby. The screams echoed even up here, they were so loud. I shut my eyes, I pretended they were nothing. I could feel the walls closing and the screaming permeated me. I stood, I could not move. The screaming went on shrill and loud until a sudden silence punctuated it. I did not stand for a moment longer and hustled down the hallway with my eyes shut. I only heard the soft reverberations of my footsteps, and the silent sound of a metal door closing shut. 


	3. The Skinland Blues

This is not where I wanted to end up. The Warrior of Lethe had me pinned to the ground with her burning sword at my throat. He blue eyes glowed with the fury of oblivion and the jagged cuts along her wrists burned crimson fire out of them. My own sword was just out of reach and I strained to move my head farther away from the blade. I could smell her hatred and pain, her own shadow breaking the hold of her psyche and whispering the darkness. I had to think fast. I strained to figure out how I got in this mess in the first place…  
  
***  
  
"Big, mean infiltrator now, huh? Don't go advertising." Keith smirked cockily, sitting on a soul crafted chair. The worn poster with an old picture of Uncle Sam proudly promoting 'We Want You!' hung behind him. Keith hadn't been a patriot and wanted no part of Vietnam. He found it as a sarcastic jab. I wondered why he would trade something for a crappy relic poster.  
  
"Don't worry, I won't." I smirked, looking around Keith's place. It was pretty Spartan except for the poster. He must have kept everything he cared about elsewhere.   
  
"Good. Other people get nervous about having a fanatical judge around them." He smirked at me. "Wouldn't want to ruin any of your sterling friendships."  
  
I grinned. "I'm sure. I just stopped by because I know you have some contacts in the mortal world. I just need to know who they are."  
  
He raised an eyebrow to me. "You thinking of using that power of yours? It's against the law, you know. Interacting with the living." He should know that by now. He's been in the Legion for forty years.   
  
"I can feel my sterling friendship starting to rust. Don't worry about another wraith coming for you for helping an infiltrator. My first case is finding my own murderer."  
  
Keith raised, his hands relenting. "Alright, alright. But you owe me for this one amigo." He reached into his pocket and handed me a list. There was a PI and a detective listed.   
  
I hmmed and looked them over. Not exactly a long list, but I could use the two to start. "Thanks. I'll be gone for a few so don't wait up."  
  
Keith rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "Don't worry. Have fun in the skin lands. Go get laid!" He chuckled, cocking his head to me.  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure. If I do, you will not be hearing about it." I walked out of his haunt onto the busy streets of Stygia. If he shouted, I could hear him over the din.  
  
I gently moved the piece of paper over my knuckles sliding through the crowd. The people were diverse as in life. Some people didn't even look like the way they did when they were alive. The way they look in death is an idealized version of themselves in life. Some aren't so vain and appear the way they did in life, with cause of death. Some don't have the cause of death and look completely different. It was what was in the subconscious. I wondered about myself. Why the green eyes? I guessed I would find out that answer soon enough.   
  
I forced my way through the streets towards on of the alleys. I couldn't hear a sound except for myself and I made sure to check if there was no one watching. I had used this point before to enter the mortal world and it was the perfect place. I concentrated and focused on a location, preparing myself. The effort was astronomical; it felt like pushing through a fierce gravity. I gasped, pushing.   
  
"You aren't going to make it! You will FAIL! Give up! You will never know who you are!" My Shadow chimed in at the worst possible moment, as it always had a habit of doing. It took much more effort to ignore now.  
  
I fought even with the whispers and let out a silent scream as the world spun and faded away to blackness. My ears rang and burned with pain, I could feel a hot liquid running out of them. I thought for a moment I had failed and I was going to discorporate and go to oblivion. Then there was silence and darkness. I thought oblivion wouldn't be so bad if it was just silence. But in that silence I smelled something. Something horrible. I wretched and realized I could feel my arms and my legs. I moved my hand up towards the darkness and felt something. Metal. I pushed it open and immediately squinted. I was in a dumpster.   
  
I rolled my eyes and hopped out, wiping the garbage off of me. I had fully materialized in the mortal world. It was so bright, so many colors. It was intoxicating. The blue sky, the yellow sun, the clou…  
  
"Hey! What the hell are you doing in the dumpster? You a goddamn crack head?!" There was a man dressed in a white outfit with a discarded garbage bag in him. I had just come out of a dumpster behind his restaurant admiring the sky.  
  
"Sorry, I was just looking for something. I'll be out of your way now." Is tumbled and turned. I was still woozy from my trip and felt at my ears. Blood. I simply shook my head, rubbing the substance between my fingers. I felt the man's eyes still upon me.  
  
I turned and noticed what he was looking at. My sword was in its sheath at my leg. He said something in another language to someone inside. I strained to translate it. But these people were still alive and I gritted my teeth forgetting. The start of this trip was not good. My shadow was laughing at me in my ears. It didn't take long for me to hear the sirens in the distance and I wasted no time running like hell across the street. Even though I was in the mortal world, I wasn't alive. I looked it, but under medical scrutiny I was dead. I still didn't tire when running, which is always a plus.   
  
After a while of running I hide in an alley. I was lucky to dodge people on the way, so no one else saw my blade. I leaned against the wall, sighing. I shut my eyes, trying to think. My shadow was still filling my head with senseless laughter. That didn't help at all. I probably smelled like a dumpster, had a sword and no money. In this world I was certifiable. I couldn't buy anything, so I tied my coat around my waist, using the back of it to hide my sword. I wiped the sweat off of my brow and squinted, looking at it. It was real water, not just plasm. I rubbed it against my clothes, drying it off. I exited the alley and into the swarm of people. So many voices, accents, languages…I was amazed. Nostalgia got to me and I caught myself wandering. It was so diverse I had forgotten. People stared at me oddly and I looked back, breaking the cardinal rule in any city. It had been so long. I had traveled so far just experiencing the world before I realized that what had been once a sunny afternoon became orange haze off to the sky. I cursed for myself for letting my mind wander this far. I dug through my pocket and saw looked up the address of the PI. Luckily, it wasn't far from here.   
  
I asked for directions and headed down the street, maneuvering easily. Compared to the streets in Stygia, this was like walking across the street. The building was brick and two stories. On the bottom was a nail solon and on the top was the PI's office. Frank Cartwell. I slid the paper in my pocket and headed inside. I found the staircase easy enough and started to walk up it. The stairs were old and narrow. I sighed and concentrated. These weren't soul forged. My claustrophobia was getting to me. My knees shook and my legs felt like jelly. I forced myself to stand and continue. Even in life I wasn't this claustrophobic. I continued on, pushing my resolve to the limit.   
  
"You loser, pathetic! You can't make it up a flight of stairs! Pitiful." My shadow goaded me. I ignored it. I couldn't let it beat me when I was so close.  
  
I reached for the doorknob, finally and turned. My lungs let out a sigh and I called out. "Hello?" I was met with no answer. I looked inside. The office was dark, and I flicked the light switch once. Nothing. I flicked it a few times. Still nothing. I hmmed to myself and moved deeper into the office. There were a few desks that were empty. Except for the middle one.   
  
At it, there was a figure face down on it. I could hear the soft drip of blood onto the floor. I glanced around, feeling into the Shadowlands for his soul. It wasn't there. Either he had no connections strong enough to hold him or someone had got to him before me. I pulled my senses back to the mortal world, weaving in and out of desks stacked with papers. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned quickly to look at it but before I could see what it was it slammed me so had it flung me across the room and into a wall. The smack reverberated into my ears. I blinked and stood up as fast as I can, discarding my jacket and unsheathing my blade. I rushed towards it, but in a blur it smashed through the window and down to the pavement below. I grabbed my jacket and wrapped it around my blade, leaping down stairs. I could hear the commotion of people outside. The people in the nail solon looked at me expecting an answer. I didn't give them any, moving through it to throw open the door.   
  
Shattered glass and wood lay on the sidewalk, but there was no one in sight. People were talking about it amongst themselves. The police had been called an people were starting to look at me. I searched throughout the crowd and I spotted something. A black haired woman with sunglasses. Gauze wrapped around the wrists. I started to move toward her. She backed away.  
  
"Hey." I said calmly. She didn't wait, bursting off with a supernatural speed. "Hey! Stop her!" I sprinted after her pushing people out of the way. I could hear the police in the distance; I only focused on the figure moving out and away on the sidewalk. She threw garbage cans in my way and I instinctively leapt over them. I felt déjà vu. The smell of the chase. I had come full circle. I was home again.   
  
She turned a corner, throwing people and objects in my way. I jumped or leapt over them. We chased each other for countless moments until she reached a parking garage. She was a warrior of Lethe. I must be careful. I unwound my sword from my jacket and looked around. There was only one entrance and exit to this parking garage. I scanned around being ready for anything. The garage was filled with a terse silence. For a moment I thought that there was no one around. I heard a skittering above me from the second level of the garage. I moved out in the open carefully, looking up. Nothing. I refocused my attention on the rest of the garage. That was a mistake. She leapt down from the second level and onto me screaming hellfire.  
  
***  
  
I think this is where we came in. Her flaming sword was at my throat, slowly burning the tip through my flesh. I winced straining to get away from it. The fury of her eyes did not look like they could be soothed.   
  
"What do you want from me?" I asked, strained under the pain of the pinpoint of the sword.   
  
Her fury cowed slightly, but she did not remove the sword. "You, infiltrator, are in violation of the laws of the dead. No interaction in the skin lands."  
  
I scoffed, "You know as well as I that the laws of the Grim Legion are permitted to go beyond the shroud and affect the lands of the living. We have the jurisdiction. You, I'm afraid, do not."  
  
"I'd watch my words infiltrator. Who has the upper hand? I do. You will answer my questions or I'll send you back in hellfire." She didn't smile nor did she smirk. She was totally expressionless.  
  
"Right." It would have been stupid of me to try anything. I did not want a flaming sword to go through my throat.  
  
"There was a detective murdered earlier tonight. Did he kill anyone?" Her eyes burned almost as hot as her sword.   
  
"You mean a PI." I don't remember any detective being killed.   
  
"No, a Detective. James Lowkey. His car exploded in a fireball with no witnesses, no evidence and no explanation. Plus, the fireball almost took me out." That explains why she was so pissed. And that was the detective I wanted to talk to. Fuck. The PI and the Detective now dead. I would bet that I wouldn't find the detective in the shadow lands either. What the hell was going on?  
  
"I was assigned to my own death. He was given to me as a source." I was starting to get agitated now. "I'm investigating my own death. When you do that, why would you kill off one of your sources?"  
  
"The hell do I know, infiltrator. All I know was I got an anonymous tip that some law breaking was going to go down tonight. And then a nice big fireball to prove the source." She adjusts her sword for it to hurt a little more. I groaned under the pressure.  
  
I clenched my fists. "Then why the hell were you doing at a PI's office, in the crowd after his throat was slit? Answer me that." She looked confused for a moment, backing her sword off.  
  
I took the opportunity and moved lightning quick, slamming my fist into her face, sending her flying back. She groaned, the sword dropping from her fingers. I grabbed for it and as she was about to get up again, and I bashed the hilt at her jaw. Surprisingly, it did not crack; even with the amount force I hit her with it. We couldn't be knocked out while we were in the form either. We could only be incapacitated by a violent disruption. Like a sword across the throat. I leapt on top of her, reversing the positions.   
  
"Alright," I heaved. "Now its my turn to ask the fucking questions." She growled at me and rested her head against the pavement.  
  
"Ugh, you are such a fucking asshole." She knew she was more powerful than me, and me getting the drop on her pissed her off. I didn't bother to smirk.  
  
"I'll repeat: What the hell were you doing in the crowd around a dead man's office?" I pressed the sword against the base of her throat.  
  
"Simple: I followed the police reports of a man wielding a sword. Just like you, I have my sources. Following where the reports left off, I caught sight of you and tailed you." She gritted her teeth as she spoke.  
  
"Oh? Then why the hell did you run when I called after you?"  
  
She rolled her eyes, "Because I thought you were the nutcase who blew up the detective's car. Get me?"  
  
I sighed and nodded, "I get you. Smells like a set-up to me." I quickly got off of her, throwing the sword off in a random direction and picking up my blade.  
  
She leapt up with amazing agility and dusted herself off. "Yeah, no shit."  
  
I sheathed my sword, rubbing my throat where the sword burned me. The weapons of her squad must have been pretty powerful since I had not seen them elsewhere. She must be the Silent Legion's heavy firepower.  
  
"Why don't we help each other out?" She said as she moved off in the exact direction as I threw the sword.   
  
"Oh?" I called back after her, my voice echoing in the spaced out garage. "What do you purpose?"  
  
She reached under a van and recovered her blade. "I'll look up how you can complete your mission. If you help me with something your commander wouldn't."  
"Alright. That sounds like a fair deal." I walked over to her. I was glad the hostilities had clamed down. This trip was mostly a bust, and now that there was someone playing two legions against each other, I had to figure out what was going on. Looks like my promotion would not go easily.  
  
She sighed and looked forlorn. I could tell it was the way she had always looked. Whatever had come out during the tense moments of hostility was a reaction to high emotion. Now it was back to the way she always was.  
  
"My brother was killed a few years ago. Oblivion took him as a Specter. I didn't find out until recently. I destroyed him." The gauze she was wearing had come off one of her wrists. The fire that lay under the skin had turned a dull red, like dying embers.  
  
She continued on and I listened, my arms crossed. "I petitioned to your commander to have someone look for my brother's killer, but he refused."  
  
I nodded and thought that as odd. Why would a member of the Legion not help find a murderer? Hm. Must be politics. Fucking Nazi. "Right and you want me to look for your brother's murderer."   
  
She nodded. "His name was Nicholas Rainer. The detective that is working on the case is Martin Hainsborough." She continued on speaking, "And in return for this help, I'll help you find new sources to find out who you are."  
  
"Sounds like a good deal. What about this double cross?" I questioned.  
  
"If the Legions found out that there was an indication someone was going to play them both against the other, do you know what would happen?" She looked to me as if I was a child. Her wrists had turned from crimson to solid black.  
  
I nodded. "The Legions would pump up defenses and turn on each other, countless wraiths going to the forges and end up destroyed. Mass chaos."  
  
She looked satisfied with that answer. "Yes. So we watch out for signs of betrayal while we go about our assigned tasks."  
  
"Right. Hey, what is your name? I don't think we have been properly introduced." I looked toward her. She didn't seem anything like the angel of hellfire she once was before.  
  
"Deirdre." She simply said, keeping a hand wrapped around the hilt of her sword and the other languishing at her side.  
  
I bowed my head slightly. "Adrian."  
  
"Well, we'll meet soon enough after we've accomplished our assigned tasks." She offered me a slight nod and turned walking down the parking garage, slowly fading from this world with each step. By the time she reached the end of the lot, she was already gone.   
  
I watched as she disappeared and shook my head simply. So this was my new life. I had a conspiracy to unravel, figure why I died, and solve a murder. Everything had come full circle. I looked out over the hazy night sky, the navy back drop and the full moon. It stood out like a pearl at the bottom of the ocean. I was home again. 


	4. Judge and Jury

Martin Hainsborough was a very busy man. As much as I could gather from the stacks of papers and crime photos that were put in uneven piles on his desk. It seemed that there was a rash of gang violence in the city, and those were stacked on the top. The gangs were harming innocents, and I could see why they took so much of his time. I flipped through the files, skipping over the pictures. After numerous distasteful files, I finally came upon the one I wanted. The pencil mark on the yellow tag was nearly smeared off by grease or time. It read, 'Rainer, Nicholas'. It wasn't particularly heavy, but it was all I had so far. Hainsborough wouldn't notice under all the work he had to do. Some people just slip through the cracks. It was a very unfortunate state of affairs.  
  
"Hey, Frank, you find what you were looking for?" The night guard called out to me, stepping inside the room.  
  
My appearance was that of a local cop, fully dressed in uniform, complete with complementary hat. My ability to adjust my spiritual form to almost any being was an asset I took pride in. I had to study Frank a little before concentrating, but once complete I was indistinguishable from the officer himself. "Yeah, thanks Carl. You take it easy." I adjusted my hat and nodded to him, walking out of the precinct into the rainy night.  
  
***   
  
I had secured a room in a rundown motel for the night by fast talking the owner into convincing I would pay him in the morning. Not honest, but I don't want to use my abilities to physically harm people for money. I'm still a cop. I had spread the file around me on the faded carpeting and was sitting cross legged. I could hear the soft pitter patter of the rain hitting the window. I turned my head, not able to focus on the task at hand. How long had I not listened to rain? It scaled down the window in spindly ribbons, merging with other clear drops. The moisture ran down the pane and coalesced at the bottom and the process started over again. The shear clap of thunder turned my head back to the paper suddenly, reminding me of what I was here to do. I actually took a breath. I could not focus on the distractions of the mortal world. To be distracted by what was lost would make me run in an endless circle.   
  
"What about your wife? Is she still around? Maybe you have a daughter or a son? How old are they? You don't know? Poor, poor baby…" The shadow said softly. I took great pains and avoided what it had said.   
  
I scanned over the halo of paper that I had surrounded myself with. The cause of Nicholas' death was blood loss. He was stabbed multiple times and left to bleed out his wounds. A long and painful way for a life to end. The medical examiner's report contained long medical descriptions of angles and arteries, none of which I could make any sense of. I skipped looking over the pictures, putting them facedown in a corner. I passed over the cause of death to what he had on him when he died. A single joker's card stuffed into the breast pocket of his shirt. Under that, Hainsborough had wrote 'The Red Fists'. It was underlined twice with two question marks next to it. The Fists were a powerful and influential gang that held precedence over the worst neighborhoods in the city. One of the few memories I held from my mortal job. What was Nicholas Rainer doing that made him the possible target for a gang hit? I clicked my tongue. It said that he worked as a controller for a small business. That was first on my list of places to visit. Next on my list was one of the Red Fists.   
  
I checked the LED on the cheap clock of the motel clock. The digital red said it was about 2:30 in the morning. I still had awhile to go. Tomorrow I'd be Frank the cop, working his way up to detective. I gathered up the papers and replaced them back into the manila folder. I placed it into my coat and slowly fell to the floor staring at the ceiling. The pitter patter of the rain guided me into meditation. I closed my eyes, and dreamt of nothing.  
  
***  
  
The morning came surprisingly quick; the dim light flowed through the curtains. It looked too dim to be morning. I turned my head to look over at the digital red and it said it was 8:30. I slowly stood up and cracked my neck, the illusory bones cracking. I opened the curtains to a drizzly, hazy morning. The gray clouds blocked most of the sunlight, and the rain coated everything in a dull shine. I pulled myself away from the window and opened the door to the bathroom. My shoes grated against the cheap tile and I looked at myself in the mirror. Green eyes, black hair and a goatee. My skin was light, though not deathly pale like it was in the shadowlands. I looked different…this is what I really had looked like. I was starting to forget. The screech of tires outside the window brought my attention back to reality. I growled angrily and slammed my foot into the trash can, leaving a sizeable dent. I was getting lost in my memory. Sooner or later, I'd get too caught up in it and feel the need to keep coming back. Like an addiction. I had to finish my work and leave, before I became totally swept up in it.   
  
I focused and my body shifted all at once. Green eyes had become blue, black hair had become blonde. My normal clothes shifted into a suit, with a detective's badge in the breast pocket. I checked the folder, still in my coat pocket. I proceeded out of the motel into the rainy street.   
  
***  
  
Getting to the Offices of Edrik & Kessler was hard, but I had made it. I couldn't walk halfway across the city and make it in a necessary amount of time, so I hitched a ride on the cab. It's amazing what the power and threat of using a badge will do. The Lawyers had taken the fourteenth floor in the office building. I couldn't muster the willpower to take the elevator up that far, so I took the flight of stairs up.   
  
Opening the door to the offices, I quickly realized that it was no small paying job. The offices were not cramped, and the plate glass windows gave a good view of the city down below. On good days, light probably cascaded through the windows, illuminating the offices. I proceeded to move up to a secretary's desk, flashing my badge with a smile.  
  
"Hello, my name is detective Frank Cassidy. I'm here investigating a murder. I'd like to talk to the boss of Nicholas Rainer if I could?" I questioned, looking towards her.  
  
She nodded, "Sure. Office number 113."  
  
I nodded in thanks and started to head off before I heard the secretary. "And Frank?"  
  
I turned. "Yeah?"   
  
"Find the bastards that did this."  
  
I nodded to the secretary, "Don't worry. I'll find justice." I didn't mention this time that there would be no trial, and there would be no judge and no jury. Only my undying and unyielding fury as punishment. This was true justice, not a mockery of what it is in the skin lands. All debts are paid.  
  
I knocked twice on the oak door that leads to the boss of Nicholas Rainer's office. He eventually got up and opened the door after awhile. I closed the door, taking a seat across from her. He started to speak before I could.  
  
"How long is this going to take? I have a meeting soon." He moved a pen from her desk along his fingers looking vaguely annoyed and suspicious as well.  
  
"It won't take long." I said, taking out a pad and a pencil I had 'borrowed' from the police station.  
  
"Aren't you curious to know who I am meeting with?" He combed the pencil over her knuckles, looking very confident.  
  
I looked up after getting my pen and pencil out. "No, not really."  
"Its another cop. Saying he would be coming by earlier. He just called to confirm it." He leaned forward looking at me, almost through me. "Impersonating a cop is a nice sentence. So why don't you tell me who you are and who you are working for."  
  
Shit. Not what I had planned. Hainsborough wanted to get the small cases out of his way before the gang hits were looked into. He just wasn't organized. Dammit. Think fast, think fast.   
  
"You're gonna get caught! You're gonna get caught! You're gonna get caught!" My shadow spoke. I tried to shut it up.  
  
I threw out a response before my shadow got the best of me. "I'm a PI that's been hired by the family. Don't ask by who, that is confidential."  
  
"Hm. Alright. The cop will be over in a half hour. I expect to see you gone from here in ten minutes. You got me? Or you get a nice sentence. Get out."  
  
I wasted no time in getting up, not bothering to say thank you. I would make it a point to find him when he was dead. Show him how much control that bastard had then.   
  
My shadow spoke again. "Yeah…you could make him dead right now! Dead! All it would take would be a little poke with your sword…" Shut the fuck up. Shut up. Shut up.   
  
I moved back to the secretary. "Look, I need your help." I put a desperate look on my face. I couldn't afford to let any lead go cold. I would find them before the police.   
  
She looked almost bewildered at my sudden move from the office of Rainer's boss to her desk. "I need you to show me where Nicholas' Rainer's desk is."  
  
She sighed, "They moved his desk out. They're in storage. You need a password to get in."  
  
Ten minutes. Damn. I could discorporate my form in an office full of people. "I need you to get me the box. I don't have much time."  
  
"Alright, alright." She shrugged and got up moving to the storage room. I leaned against her desk. The bastard would check. Though I doubted security would a ghost like me, I'd get in a nice amount of trouble for displaying power to escape. I had to be subtle and this was the way to go.   
  
I heard the click of the clock on the wall go by. It had been five minutes. The close of a door. The boss had come to check and was making a beeline straight towards me. I stared out at her, letting out a false sigh wondering where…  
  
The slam of a box on the desk alerted me back to the secretary's presence. I turned and uttered a thank you before snatching the cardboard box by the two cut-out handles and moving hastily towards the elevators doors. Claustrophobia or no claustrophobia I had to do it. I heard the boss call out, and could feel the eyes of workers on me. Luckily someone was getting off the elevator and I pushed passed them, throwing them out onto the lobby floor. I threw them down and frantically pushed the button for the lobby. As the doors closed, the lights of my world went out. That is when hell began.  
  
***  
  
Black was when the elevator doors closed. I couldn't breath. It was so hot. Why wasn't there any air. The brass doors seemed to incline to me closer. There wasn't room! No room! No air, can't breathe! The lights on the elevator numbers flickered and faded into blackness. The lights of the elevator burst and sparks flew. I leaned back in the corner, but there weren't any corners around me just physical space around me. I hammered at the walls and shouted.  
  
There was nothing but cold inky blackness and the feeling that my lungs were breathing sludge. I couldn't move. I couldn't see. And my shadow was there. It was at my ear whispering, whispering. Always whispering. Cold breath. Rot.  
  
"You will be one with me. I have seen it." It whirled from my right ear to my left, whispering. "I am the only way to let you know what has happened. The answer is within you. Embrace nothing, feel the touch of nothing. It's not so bad. Just like empty air. That is what everything will be when we are through. Why don't you join?"  
  
It turned from my left ear to the front of my face. I could smell the rot. I could see it outlined in the darkness. I reached out and touched its face. I saw who my shadow was. Something that was me and that wasn't me. The whispers were my own. I had not seen it until now.   
  
"You know we are right. You see it every time you witness death. Is it not better to have nothing than to have death? To have nothing rather than pain? We are ending a sick world. Don't you see? We are doing a cleansing. Just like when you were a cop. We are just like you. Become one, and it will be over all so quickly. I promise…"  
  
It touched along my cheek affectionately. I grabbed the finger like a child would its mother. And I bent it back to the hand. "Fuck you." It was everything that it promised. It was a cleansing of love. Of compassion of everything that was good. It was not me. And it never would. I would not be broken. Its shrill scream pierced my ears and I screamed with it. And then at that perfect moment, the elevator doors opened.  
  
The workers saw me screaming, huddled down in a corner next to a box. I was in my normal form that I would appear in the shadowlands, no longer a cop. The conflict in the elevator had reverted me back to my normal form. Luckily the police were looking for someone with a different description. I gradually stood up and took the box. I muttered, "I've got extreme claustrophobia."   
  
As I walked to the exit, the elevator doors closed behind me, with my shadow laughing, its oh so joyous laughter, following me down the street.   
  
***  
  
I couldn't have a motel room anymore, so I took up occupancy at a room of the local library. I didn't need to eat or sleep, but this was perfect for idle research. The police, being denied this lead by Frank, would no doubt search his house and get back on the trail. I sifted through the box, mostly business related stuff. Nothing much important until I flipped through his rolodex. There was a number written down for a bar on the seedy side of town. What was a well paid accountant doing with a phone number on the seedy side of town? That I'd find out. I unclipped the number and looked through the box a bit deeper.   
  
I nearly cut my hand on the edge of a picture frame. There were two of them. The first one was of him and his sister. She was smiling in the picture. She looked vibrant, and nothing about the smile was forced. I wondered why she killed herself. Her humanity was there. I even looked to her wrists to see if they were intact. I hummed to myself, leaning back in my chair. I could feel someone behind me. I instantly turned and there she was. "Jesus!" I stood straight up at her. It was one of her fetters. Something she attached herself with to the mortal world. The one picture that she was truly happy in.  
  
"You scare easily, don't you?" She remarked, not bothering to hide her slit wrists. Again, they attracted my eyes.  
  
"Yeah, especially when I'm working on something like this." I adjusted my position.   
  
"Don't look too deeply into me. And that is a request." She circled the table.   
  
"Right, I won't. Don't worry." I gently lay the picture down on the table. She slid her hand over and took it.   
  
"I'm taking your word for it. Don't. I won't let you. Regulations or not. You get me?" She stared at me hard while taking the picture from across the table.   
  
"I don't plan on it. I am keeping my end of the bargain. Are you keeping yours?" I glanced to her.  
  
"Don't worry about me. You see to it that my brother's murderers are killed, and you'll complete your mission."  
  
I nodded, keeping myself wary. "Yeah, and we'll all be a happy bunch."  
  
She nodded, "Yeah. I'm going to find this picture a good home. Finish them, infiltrator." And with a blink she was gone from the room.  
  
I slumped back into my chair. With the police and a wraith riding my ass, it seemed that there was no end. The only reward was the justice that two murders would be ended, and a death would be resolved. That was reward enough. I picked through his belongings and looked at the second picture. It was of him and the secretary. I hummed to myself. The rest of it wasn't worth anything to the investigation. I took the phone number and left the box in the room.  
  
I headed to the librarian and asked to use the phone. She grumbled and gave me a quarter. I moved outside into the still-dull afternoon and called the pub. It was closed. I hung up the phone. I had time. I wandered around, lost in the swirling sea of my mind, and tried to focus on nothing but the silent noise of the city, and not the wailing souls that were just under the surface.  
  
***  
  
The dreary day had become a dreary night, though with harder rain. It was coming down nicely now, running along my skin and through my hair. It felt good. It was the first good feeling I had felt since I had come here. I looked up the blinking neon sign. 'McGregor's Irish Pub'. There probably were dozens more with the same name in the city so I pushed my way in through the door. High drinking time had already begun, I could tell by all the 'happy' faces. I could smell the thick smoke, and it made my eyes water in the dimly lit bar. I approached the tender, who didn't seem too busy.  
  
"I'm looking for information." I said plainly.  
  
"Oh, really?" The tender smirked and leaned forward.  
  
"About a guy named Nick Rainer. You know him?" I nearly had to shout to say it,   
  
He shook his head, grinning at me. "I'm afraid I don't know the name there, boy. Why don't you run along."  
  
I smiled and shook my head, "Listen, I'm not a cop. I'm just looking for information. I can guarantee, whatever you are hiding will stay hid."  
  
"Oh really there, boy? Why don't you get the fuck out of my place." He said, suddenly becoming hostile.   
  
Before I could respond, two men came up to the bar and one patted me on the shoulder. "No, I think we should be giving this nice man some information out back."  
  
The bartender nodded. "Yeah, why don't ye."  
  
Only an idiot wouldn't see where this was going. I didn't resist. I simply smiled and nodded. "Sure, lets go." Only, I was drilled every day of the week in the arts of close combat by the best military minds in history and had fought opponents with no survival instinct. Had they? No. They hadn't.  
  
They smiled as if they were trying to be convincing. I let them lead me out of there rather forcefully, throwing me hard against the fence. I came back quick. "So that's how its gonna be?" I asked with a smile.  
  
"Yeah, that's how its gonna be." He threw a punch, I let it hit me. I reeled, wiping blood from my lip.   
  
"You know the first one's free. You get one too." I pointed at the other man. He looked at his friend as if I was serious. He readied a punch and instead kicked me in the groin. I didn't even breath a little as he kicked me. I had no need for the organs down there.  
  
"Now, its my turn." They both realized something was wrong then, but they had no chance to react. I grabbed the head of the one who had just kicked me and brought it hard against my knee. This sprung his friend into action.   
  
He threw a punch which I deftly dodged, and then he threw another that I dodge again. I laughed and backhanded him hard across the face, to knock out a tooth. He screamed, but it was cut off by me punching him hard in the solar plexus, knocking every once of wind out of him. I locked his arm tightly, with just enough force not to shatter it. His friend was whimpering in the corner, tending to his bleeding nose.   
  
"I want to know what happened to Nicholas Rainer. You will tell me that information. Or you will lose your arm. Your choice." I said coldly, I could care less about this little punks life. He had probably raped and murdered wantonly. I had no pity.  
  
"Fuck you." He gasped while trying to regain how to breathe.  
  
"Wrong answer." I exerted enough pressure to make him scream out.  
  
"Last chance. Tell me." I held him with my vice like grip, he was inhaling in pain. I would not tolerate them hiding a murderer.  
  
"Fuck…you…" Terse and pained. He wouldn't let up. So I did the only thing I would do in the situation. I shattered his arm, causing a nice shrill scream and whimpering. I dropped the thug to the ground. His screams of agony.  
  
"I love it when they scream like that. You should kill him for measure…just kill…kill…" My shadow whispered. For once I thought it right and almost unsheathed my sword. But I showed restraint and resisted. I had already given it far too much ground.  
  
"I want you to tell me everything you know about Nicholas Rainer. And I want you to do it now." And the bleeding little bird looked up at the fierce cat, and the bleeding little bird told the cat everything.   
  
***  
  
I almost didn't make it to the apartment in time. I was disguised as Nicholas' lover, the secretary. Everything became a bit clearer. I knocked hesitantly at the door to the luxury apartment. A familiar face opened the door and ushered me in. I looked to Rainer's boss, Harold Gillam. "I put the files on the disks and deleted the originals. Just like you asked." I said meekly.   
  
"Good good. You didn't tell anyone you were coming?" He inquired, looking towards me.  
  
"No, I didn't." I shook my head, wiping a lock of blonde hair out of my eyes. I noticed an unfamiliar man come out of the darkness of the hallway. He had a bulge under his jacket.  
  
"Good. Nicholas did not want to cooperate with me. I'm glad you could. I have extravagant tastes, as you can see. Hiring services." He pointed to the man at his side. "Now all can be forgotten. And a little bonus on the side for you." He smiled like he had won.   
  
"I did notice a weird bar in his rolodex. Is that where you got him from?" I pointed a finger towards the burly man.  
  
"Well, yes. Non descript pub. I told him we would come to a resolution there. It's amazing what you can pay people to do on the fly. Unfortunately we couldn't agree. And it was the perfect place for tying up loose ends." He grinned. The smile of a winner. The burly man stepped forward. So did I. He looked confused.   
  
"Too bad I released the disks to the authorities. Or should I say, Ms. Aimes did. Now…there was something about loose ends." I thought. "Oh yes, you two!"  
  
The form of the secretary washed away like the foam of the sea on the shore. I was a monster from nightmare. My skin was black and I had formed a maw of gaping teeth. My body ripped into an impossible form of muscle. I was the harbinger of vengeance. I unsheathed my blade, and it was stained with the blood of the victimizers. I was the epitome of the vengeance of the wronged. My blade sang through the air, and I felt bullets collided with my chest. But it did nothing, absolutely nothing, to stop the vengeance from being wrought. And vengeance was wrought as it always was. Cold, swift, and bloody.  
  
***  
  
"The bodies of two men were found today in an upscale apartment building late yesterday. Gunshots and screaming were reported. The bodies of the two men were badly mutilated and were identified as Harold Gillam, 32, and Ian Lancaster, 23. Harold Gillam was suspected of embezzling a large amount of money for the company he had worked for. His connection to Mr. Lancaster is as currently being looked into. And on a related note, the pub that Mr. Lancaster has worked at was reported burned to the ground by an early morning fire. No one was hurt, but arson is suspected."  
  
I stood watching the dull glow of the television outside of the electronic store. The slow drizzle had stopped to open up a beautiful morning sky. It was a pity I had to go too. Deirdre stood behind me. "Thank you Adrian. I won't forget this."  
  
I nodded and looked to her. "I know you won't. They're in the shadowlands now."  
  
She nodded. "I know. They're getting what they deserve. To the forges."  
  
I nodded in the warm morning glow of the sun. "Yeah, what most of them deserve. Have you found what out your part of the bargain?" I looked toward her, squinting in the sunlight.   
  
She nodded sullenly. "Yeah, but you won't like it. We have to go back to Stygia." She nodded her head in a direction and walked across the street. I followed into the brightening city. I could feel one emotion I had not felt in a very long time. Hope. There was some chance of recovering who I was, no matter the taste in my mouth. I would finally know what I had lost, and who I was. I could begin all over again. Hell just looked that much brighter. 


	5. Forbidden Fruit

I was back home again. The dark towers and the twisting steel maze awaited me. Deirdre walked briskly through the streets. I wondered why we were rushing away from the main crowd of Wraiths. Some of the dead looked at us in a suspicious manner as we pushed through them. She was going faster and I hustled to keep up.  
  
"What? What the hell are we rushing for?" I spoke, somewhat annoyed by the lack of explanation.  
  
She only moved forward, not answering. The din of the city only increased. We were not moving away from the din, but getting closer to it. We were at the Gates of Stygia. It was something out a Fantasy movie. A large, crafted metal wall and two gigantic metal doors that stood open a crack to let hundreds of wraiths through. Nothing in the mortal world could compare. I did not think how many souls were sacrificed to make it. That would be too horrible to imagine.  
  
I quirked, "Why are we going outside the gates?"  
  
She turned and looked at me. "There are too many ears within the gates. That is why."   
  
The bundles of wraiths that came in was almost like a tide. You had to fight to get through. No one moved out of the way. Most were self-absorbed, concentrating on their own cares to be bothered with the likes of another. Some were in chains, screaming. They were off to the forges. Not all of them were oblivion tainted. Not all of them criminals. Some had just been simply unlucky. The ends justified the means.   
  
I was shunted out of my stupor when one of them grabbed me with incredible strength. "Please! Don't let them take me! I'll do anything! Don't let them take me!" He nearly pulled me to the ground in his desperation, and I tried to pry him off, but I couldn't find the strength. Deirdre turned and looked, in horror as well. Emotion was not beyond her. The slave was on his knees, still holding onto me tight. He begged words of forgiveness, pleas and other rambling nonsense. The slaver yanked his chains hard, sending him backwards into the fray, screaming. He lay on the ground for a few moments before he was dragged into the swarm of dead entering and exiting Stygia.  
  
We stood silent for a moment. Acceptance was always part of the condition to the forges. I did not think my blade was a soul, or my chair was a soul. I had never seen the real humanity of it before. When you see a slave in chains, you do not think that he is a good soul. You always thought of his or her villainy. Having a good soul smelted was hard to justify. But it was the sacrifice of a few that helped save the many. I turned to look at Deidre. She had a very far away look on her face. I did not know why, but maybe she was thinking the same way as I did. Perhaps she thought her death in battle was a better fate than being sent off the forges. The wraiths around us came and went. There was no evidence of what had happened. The wraiths coming and going, paid no mind to us. They just shifted in between us like wind blowing through trees. There were words, but they weren't talking to people. They looked at the other dead, but they were not looking at anyone. They were absorbed in their death and their connections. There was no compassion left in them. I didn't want to stay here any longer.  
  
"Lets keep moving." I had to shout over the din almost.  
  
Deidre nodded and turned back towards the gates, moving through the restless dead and out beyond the great city of Stygia, to the plains of the shadow lands.  
  
***  
  
The plains here were desolate and expansive. Outside of Stygia, one could get lost if they were not trained in the landscape. A few knotted and dead trees sprouted from the pale brown soil. Off in the distance, I could hear the storms crackling over the Tempest. Discord was not far away, and she reminded me of that.   
  
"So," I let out a false breath, "What was it that you needed to tell me?"  
  
She leaned against a black tree and looked at me. "Your name is not Adrian. It can't be. Looking through most of the records without a last name is almost impossible. But since you were a cop, I could look into it a bit easier. There are about five Adrian's on the cities police force. And they are all alive. So, your name cannot be Adrian. Or you aren't really a cop."  
  
I looked down at the dirt plain and cross my arms. "We all tell ourselves little things. Little lies. When I woke up here, I had the name Adrian echoing in my head. I had flashes of me in a police uniform. That's it. The rest, was all a fairy tale so I wouldn't be like the others we 'saw' back there."  
  
Deidre nodded, "And nothing else?"  
  
He shook his head, "Nothing else."  
  
"Normally, your shadow knows who you are. Sometimes it steals your memory. Or the shock of your death was so horrific you forget everything. But you still lived. Your emotional resonance hangs on you." She shrugs. "There is a way to access it, but it will cost you."  
  
I groaned. She was making deals again. I hated owing people things. "What will it cost me?"  
  
"Everything."  
  
"Everything?"  
  
She nodded. "Let me tell you a little story. There was a group of Wraiths that developed an extraordinary ability. They called it Mnemosynis. It allowed them to dredge up the memories of Wraiths. Sorrow, horror, rage, anything. It was exceedingly powerful. Any enemy that confronted them, they brought forth horrifying mortal memories. Dead feelings returned. Warriors cowed in battle because of nostalgia. They made Wraiths go insane from what they had left unresolved, or things they would never experience again. They could move memories around and create such intense emotional onslaught that they could make beings weak simply by it."  
  
"And how did it end?" I inquired. I already knew the answer to that, and what it probably would cost me.  
  
"It ended by every one of them being executed, or sent to the forges. Any wraith who was found using this power or having been touched by it was exterminated. There are precious few who know it now. All hiding out there." She motioned around the barren plains. "What will it cost you? Your existence. You will no longer be an infiltrator. You will become anathema, and put into chains and sent to the forges. That is the price for knowing." She sighed and rubbed her wrist gently. They glowed slightly red, like dying embers, she looked at me.   
  
Well, it was my mission. What was the point going on for an eternity worrying about it? Who would know my 'crime'? It was more criminal than existing in this world without any knowledge of why you were here. I nodded to her. "I know what I could lose. I also know what I could gain." I sighed, rubbing my hands along my face. "I'll do it. Show me the way."   
  
She nodded, "Move up along the plains. The seer is a fair distance from here."   
  
I nodded and trudged up along the plains. There was a pain in my temples then. I didn't know why. It kept getting more and more piercing with each step. My legs felt like lead weights and I began to falter. I tried to open my mouth, but it refused to respond. Eventually, my body collapsed, hitting the soil hard. The last sound I heard was a loud ringing that only kept getting louder and louder. My vision began to fade and there was darkness, and only a ringing.  
  
***  
"You're home already? I thought you had work."  
  
"I got off early."  
  
"On a Friday?"  
  
"I told you last week I was taking Friday off."  
  
"Oh. I see."  
  
"Why won't you let me go in there?"   
  
Voices at first. Then the blackness cleared away. Everything was a faded picture show. I saw me, wearing a jacket. On the back of it was written 'FBI'. I didn't recognize myself. He looked totally different than I did in the Shadow lands. But I knew it was me, somehow. I was standing there.  
  
The scene was in a living room. My significant other was blocking the way to another room. She had long red hair and brown eyes. She looked scared. The person in the FBI uniform was tall and slightly muscular. He had blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked angry, as if he knew something already. The house was picturesque, almost in perfect order. We must have been in the suburbs somewhere. It could have been outside the city, but I could not tell for sure. The curtains were drawn.  
  
"It's a mess; you wouldn't want to see it." She stammered, hesitantly. She was lying.   
  
"Let me in there Alyson." 'I' growled fiercely, pushing past her. The next room contained a TV, a glass table littered with some magazines and a couch. Lying on the couch, was…me? I looked like I did in the shadow lands. I had black hair, pale skin and a Goatee. My eyes were blue this time around. I figured that I would find out where my piercing gaze came from soon enough. But I still didn't know who I was.   
  
"Hello Adrian." The one with the goatee said. So I was the cop. But why did I look like this man?  
  
"Eric, what are you doing in my house?" Adrian started forward towards him.   
  
"Alyson invited me over for a little fun." Eric looked to Adrian nonchalantly, a smirk on his face. Adrian narrowed his eyes, anger streaking over his features. "Aw, you didn't know?" Alyson stood carefully between the two men, sensing the tension in between them.   
  
Adrian looked betrayed at Alyson. "You…why?"  
  
She did not respond in her guilt, just averting her eyes from Adrian's. She still put herself between them, fearing violence. Adrian looked angry enough for it. His hands clenched and unclenched like he wanted to kill Eric on the spot, but he didn't. He pulled back, away from Alyson and Eric.   
  
"I'm not going to forget this, you fucking asshole." He pointed a finger at Eric and turned, walking towards the door angrily.  
  
"Hey, Adrian." Eric called out. Alyson tried feebly to try to hold Eric back, but Eric got to Adrian first. He had a police baton in hand and cracked it against Eric's temple as hard as he could. The memory did not fade to blackness.  
  
Alyson was crying, and cursing at him. Adrian pushed her back, "He was going to come between us. You and I both knew he would! I couldn't let him do that."  
  
"Go to hell you son of a bitch! I'm going to tell them, I'm going to tell them…" Her voice died down to a whimper and she began sobbing.   
  
Adrian looked at Alyson; he looked pained for a moment. "I wish you didn't say that…I really wish you didn't..." He raised the police baton and brought it down. I closed my eyes, but the scene was still in front of me. And I prayed. For the first time here, I prayed.  
  
***  
  
Eric had put Adrian in the back of the trunk of his car, along with Alyson. He was driving. It was so long. He looked suspicious and turned his head to look back in the rearview mirror. He drove for hours, until the city passed on into the country side. And he drove for hours until it was past midnight. He looked at the clock several times. The green digital display clicked. I could only guess what was going to happen next.  
  
Eric drove into a country lake on a gravel road, it crunched beneath the weight of the car. He looked down at the two battered bodies. Adrian opened his eyes and murmured something. He was alive. Alyson's badly beaten face remained motionless. She was dead. The soft hum of the crickets crescendo created a crescendo in the distance. The country air smelled vaguely sweet. Eric slammed the trunk shut and put the car into neutral. He slowly rolled it into the lake. The lights were still on. As it sank below the water, the lights ghosted in the water, shining like a beacon to warn the living. Eventually, the sharp spark signaled that they had shorted out. The trunk was the last thing to go, water lapping at the red metal, before dipping below the surface. A few air bubbles and then the night was silent again. No air. It was dark. I couldn't breath.   
  
There was another car parked in the brush off to the side. He had been planning this. He whistled as he headed over, unlocking the car with a sharp beep sound. He opened the door and twisted the key, driving down the road. He was tired, so tired. He had driven too long. Too long. His eyes fluttered and the memory went dark. His eyes opened again and he was heading into the tree line. It was dark again. His eyes opened. He had hit a tree. It was dark again. His eyes opened. He was in a hospital bed. Noise. They said permanent vegetable. I could hear them. It was dark again. He opened his eyes. Noise. The sounds of the machines were shutting down. It was dark again.  
  
***  
  
It was black. No noise. Only whispers. Whispering. Deirdre. "I knew it from the moment I first saw you. I saw your memories without you knowing. I saw. I could have told them. But somehow, you came over different. You are neither Adrian nor are you Eric. For some reason, you are more the man you killed than the man you were. You are justice through the eyes of the damned. You are in enough torment knowing. Now, open your eyes."  
  
***  
  
Green for Guilt. Green for Envy. Those were what my eyes were. In some mix of fate, the memory of the man that I killed and the man that I once was, intertwined. I was a killer who hid in the ranks of the wronged. They would not understand. I had felt their pain. What I did was horrible, and they could not comprehend it. How could I be different than any other murderer? I could not answer that, even for myself. All I know is that Deirdre was right. It had cost me everything. My existence, my state of mind, even my soul. Was there hope for redemption? I didn't know. All I could do was open my eyes, and see. 


End file.
